Nothing Personal
by Etymologist
Summary: Will finds himself fighting yet another threat to the kingdom, but he soon realizes just how different this villain is: this enemy's power feeds on revenge sought by past, defeated evils. Will asks for help from old friends and stumbles across new ones with similar vendettas; though some have questionable motives, unlikely alliances are struck to fight a seemingly infallible enemy.
1. Chapter 1

Will finds himself fighting yet _another_ threat to the kingdom, but he realizes really how different this enemy is. This person's power feeds on revenge sought by past evils. He asks for help from old friends and stumbles across new ones with similar vendettas; though some have questionable motives, unlikely alliances are struck to fight a seemingly infallible enemy. Canon parings.

* * *

Will and Halt were only trying to protect their own lives. They couldn't put a face on every person they killed.

That would destroy them from the inside out.

Being a Ranger meant exterminating threats on a daily basis.

Of course, it was nothing personal.

Will tried to take his mind off of all of the blood he shed, of how guilty he was for the deaths of his victims.

After all, it was nothing personal.

Right?

Sometimes he lay awake in bed alone, or with Ebony's warm body at his feet, or curled up next to Alyss, and he found himself subconsciously giving names to the people he had killed, ironically fashioning new lives for the ones he had taken.

He gave them personalities, pet peeves, quirks- but never families. Or friends. He could never live with himself thinking that he had created another him, created another orphan waiting for his or her father to come back.

He liked to think that they were as lonely as he was when his mind wandered to them.

He reassured himself with the delusion that it didn't matter. It was nothing personal.

This is what he told himself everyday when he went to sleep and when he woke up and when he drew back his bow to shoot a target or a bird or a breathing human being. It became a part of his blood, coursing throughout his body in a never-ending cycle.

_It's nothing personal_.

No one could blame him for the lives he had buried deep in his soul, products of death wrought by his own hand, right? Because that would be wrong, and unnecessarily personalizing the situation.

So why would they care about one soldier? Or event two? They had, after all, enlisted of their own accord, and spilt blood with their own hands. They were trying to kill them, so they had to return the favor.

So why would they care about one noble? He had kidnapped friends and killed his own uncle in a desperate grab for power. He had to be put down for his own good. He was trying to kill them, so they had to make sure he couldn't.

So why would they care about one Genovesen? Or even two? They had, after all, killed Halt's brother, Ferris, and had tried to take Horace's own life. They were trying to kill them, so they had to retaliate.

Will remembered exactly every breath he had drawn as he had pulled the taut bowstring back and let loose the deathly arrow to pierce its targets. The short gasp they always uttered as the heavy arrow slammed into them- as if they were surprised by fate!- and the rustle of clothing as they fell to the ground, dead.

He tried so hard with ever fibre of his being and every breath he drew to make it nothing personal.

And thus he stayed sane.

* * *

-Present*-

Will woke up, blinking sleep away. His tousled brown hair seemed even more wild by the pillow's struggle to breathe throughout the night. _Why am I awake?_ he groaned to himself, glaring at the small rays of light that were beginning to filter through his bedroom window. Then he forced himself to stay still without falling back asleep. Something was wrong. Very wrong. His instincts wouldn't have woken him up if something _wasn't wrong_.

He strained to hear anything out of context. Ebony's legs brushed against the floor as she happily chased an invisible prey, most possibly a miniaturized, chaseable Tug she could finally bully. Tug himself hadn't uttered a sound at all, if he was awake.

_Wait_. As he pulled himself farther out of sleep, he realized there was a second presence in the room. Not anything with malicious intent, as he was obviously still alive...

"About time you woke up." Will jerked upwards as he recognized the voice. _What?!_

"Halt!" he cried out joyously, launching himself off of his bed and wrapping his arms around his former mentor. Halt winced and staggered backwards. "Why the devil are you here? Is something wrong? Don't tell me Pauline kicked you out! No, tell me. Did she kick you out?" The glowing, bright, enthusiastic, bearded company of his mentor (of course, he was being sarcastic- Halt was perpetually mulling in a sardonic mood) managed to wake him up.

"I wouldn't answer most of those even if you gave me breath to answer them all," Halt said gruffly. "I would have thought starting to live with Alyss would have mellowed you out a touch."

"Never," Will said vehemently. "Besides, she's out for the moment- Courier business and whatnot."

"I see." Halt pulled the cowl of his cloak back. Will noticed there was more grey in his beard than he remembered. "I'm here on important business. I'll debrief more at the castle, but to put long things short, there's been trouble in Araluen."

"What?" Will pulled on a tunic and his cloak. By now Ebony had woken up and was barking furiously and happily at Halt's sudden appearance. Halt rubbed her behind the ears as Will added, "I haven't heard anything lately. When did you get the news?"

"It's been around, but the royal castle has been keeping it quiet and monitoring it to make sure it was something serious. For goodness' sake, put on a pair of pants before you put on your shoes."

In his haste, Will had forgotten to put on his breeches, something he quickly amended before firing away another question, "Who is it?"

Halt grimaced before kicking away a pair of dirty socks lying on the floor. "That's the thing: we don't really know."

* * *

-Toscana: Present-

A fair-haired young girl clutched a worn-down cross bow in one hand and a letter in the other.

Her name was Loreto.

Her father's name was Marisi.

She would make sure the Rangers would pay dearly.

End of Chapter 1

A/N: *A year or so after Emperor or Nihon-Ja and around the events of the last story of The Lost Stories


	2. Chapter 2

Will finds himself fighting yet _another_ threat to the kingdom, but he realizes really how different this enemy is. This person's power feeds on revenge sought by past evils. He asks for help from old friends and stumbles across new ones with similar vendettas; though some have questionable motives, unlikely alliances are struck to fight a seemingly infallible enemy. Canon parings. Canon parings.

* * *

"Horace!" The exuberant young man leapt down from his stocky horse- who shook his head in philosophical acceptance of his friend's immaturity despite his growing age- and ran towards his best friend. "It feels like it's been a while since I've seen you!" It was true, as general peace settled across the kingdom, there were fewer and fewer occasions in which Will could make excuses to visit his friend, as Will busied himself with events in Redmont fief and Horace did... well, did God knows what with his new position as prince and royal knight.

"I know!" Horace laughed, embracing his friend tightly.

"Ah- stappit, no you're crushing me, Horace, you oaf!"

"Might as well leave you incapacitated so you don't have to leave!" the larger young man said, his arms still wrapped around his friend's lanky frame. "Why haven't you been visiting?" He finally set his friend down, who almost collapsed to the ground and had to steal a few moments to circulate air into his lungs again.

"There... there hasn't been... occasion..." Will managed to wheeze out.

"What? Since when did Ranger's adhere to _occasion_?" Cassandra and Halt watched the old friends banter as they entered the castle with fondness. They were close, and the very picture of best friendship.

"Just like Will to _forget to address the Crown Princess_," Halt emphasized the last words so Will could clearly hear them over his laughter.

Will turned around, perplexed. He was suddenly hesitant to greet her."E-erm, hello... Princess?" Will awkwardly bent into a half-standing, half-bowed stance, perturbed by the displeased and offended expression Evanlyn had plastered onto her face. Surely they were friends enough to pay no attention to such formalities? Never before had she put on such airs. Evanlyn sniffed and stepped forward in such a manner that even Horace began to become uneasy and Halt doubted whether she was pulling their legs or not. Will cringed as she stepped close, drew herself up to her full height, and then instantly doubled over in laughter.

"O-Oh, Will, your face- I t-tried- I can't- I-" she gathered Will into a tight embrace while clinging to his frame to avoid falling to the ground in laughter. "You know me better- but your-" she wiped her eyes and placed her hands on his shoulders, looking up at him with a teary gaze. "Will, you are hopeless." Still shaking with laughter, she turned and walked to the castle. Will willed the hairs standing up on end on the back of his neck to fall back down and for the goosebumps prickling his skin to go away. The remaining men all glanced at each other and shrugged slightly, smiling (with more than a bit of relief) with the realization that Evanlyn had only been joking.

"Now, are you going to stand there are grinning like idiots or come in?" Evanlyn called out, and galvanized into action, the three of them ran after her figure, who was already passing the castle gate.

* * *

"So what seems to be the problem?" Will asked. All of them were seated around a conference table, with the addition of Crowley at the head. "Halt was rather cryptic when he told me to come..."

"Cryptic for you, probably," Halt muttered. Horace coughed into his drinking cup, smothering snorts of laughter with coughing. Will glared at them balefully, and waited until he stopped.

"Quite done, yet?" he asked.

"Probably not, and I'm not making any promises."

"_Please_, let's focus on the problem at hand," Evanlyn interrupted Will's scathing reply.

"Yes, sorry, dear, go on," Horace said, patting his wife's hand and smiling abashedly.

"Anyways," she continued, sweeping a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, "Does the name Scrymerti mean anything to you?"

Will racked his brain, willing for something to come up so he at least wouldn't look like the three-legged horse of the group, but nothing came to mind. "No," he admitted, "should it?"

"We're not that sure." Evanlyn said, "but as far as our translators are certain it roughly means 'black death'."

"And isn't that cheery," Halt added. Evanlyn nodded.

She pulled up a small, bound roll and untied it. "Baron Edward in Whitefield Fief reported a disturbance."

"What kind?" Crowley spoke up for the first time. As the leader of the Ranger Corps, disturbances were his forte.

"It says here a large influx of travelers speaking a foreign language started arrived by large numbers some months ago. No one thought much, until right afterwards farms started be burned down and people started showing up..." the princess cleared her throat. "Started showing up mutilated and thrown away in strange places. Each with a paper lodged in their throats: 'Where are your Rangers now?'"

There was silence.

"Why did't Norway say anything?" Crowley demanded. Norway was the Ranger of that particular fief, a bit scatterbrained but a good Ranger nonetheless.

"That's just the thing. Norway had no idea any of this was happening, and when he did was when he contacted you."

"That's impossible! If it's been happening for as long as you say..." Something wasn't right. Things didn't add up.

Will pressed down the worry that threatened to show on his face.

How could they fight something they couldn't see?

* * *

Loreto had waited days. Weeks. Months for news of her father. He had found a good-paying job protecting an Araluen man- a holy man- and someone needed to keep food on the metaphorical table for their small, two-member family.

"Please stay safe, _papá_," she had pleaded. Never had he taken a job so far away and for so long.

"I will, _mi cara_, I will be back before you know it."

He never came back. And then she had received the earth-shattering letter from Bacari.

Marisi never would come back. His corpse was rotting in a forest _desolata_ with no one to comfort him but two arrows in his heart and she couldn't even give him a proper burial.

And who's fault was that?

She would make sure the Rangers would pay dearly.

End of Chapter 2

* * *

A/N: Thanks to Dash99, snaps10, FarmersDaughter, and Savannah Silverstone for their encouraging first reviews.

EDIT: Chapters 1 and 2 have been edited.


	3. Chapter 3

Will finds himself fighting yet _another_ threat to the kingdom, but he realizes really how different this enemy is. This person's power feeds on revenge sought by past evils. He asks for help from old friends and stumbles across new ones with similar vendettas; though some have questionable motives, unlikely alliances are struck to fight a seemingly infallible enemy. Canon parings.

* * *

_We'll meet again tomorrow. It's been a long day, and I want everyone to be able to absorb what they've heard so far._ Evanlyn's voice spoke to Will again as he entered one of the guest rooms, and adjusted to the fading light streaming in through the window. _We'll see if we can come up with anything then._

_But so far, we're at a bit of a dead end_, Will added dryly to himself. He had made sure Tug was comfortable in his stables before going back up to the castle where Evanlyn offered everyone a place to sleep for the night, so they could get immediately to work in the morning.

Will took in his surroundings, both consciously and subconsciously noting every hiding spot, every shadow, every nook and cranny. Everything was painted with a horrid shade of royal red-purple, from the hanging curtains, to the feather bed, to the plush carpeting on the floor.

The young Ranger wondered if Evanlyn had asked Baron Arald for home decorating advice, and if she had... Well, there was no logical, earthly explanation why would she ever do that. Will slowly backed out of the room before his eyes could wither up in his sockets and peeked to the left and right. He tried other rooms, but they were all locked, except for Halt's. Will was in no mood for _Halt's_ mood, and was still a bit miffed at his old mentor's comment earlier despite the nagging voice in the back of his mind that told him he had just been joking.

Ah, so he was stuck with the death chamber.

_Stop complaining, you twit_, that same voice berated him as he reluctantly re-entered and shut himself in for the night, _you should consider yourself lucky_.

_If you say so_, he replied, sinking in several inches on the luxurious mattress as he threw himself onto it. But really, who ever enjoyed the feeling of drowning in plush quicksand? He took off his boots, socks, and outer clothes and threw them onto the floor (immediately afterwards regretting spoiling the admittedly clean room and forcing himself to fold his garments neatly) and fell back into bed.

_I'm never going to be able to go to sleep_, Will thought as he shifted around on the bed. In light of the new information he fought off his usual night musings and recounted his thoughts.

This new person, whoever he was, had a grudge against the Rangers. It was obviously someone the Corps had tangled with before, and someone powerful: a major enemy if he had the courage to outright speak against the group in their own country by attacking innocent civilians. But why? And how? When would he strike again?

He rubbed his eyes and brushed back his untidy hair while he stared at the ceiling.

_I'll never be able to sleep._ He thought again._ I'll have to stay awake the entire night. My mind is too busy_. But despite himself and the millions of thoughts running around his head, he felt himself drift into unconsiousness.

* * *

_"Hullo, Will." The Ranger turned around and saw a little boy smiling at him._

_"Er, hello?" Will answered. Who...?_

_"Do you know my name?" The boy walked up to him, holding out his hands as if ready to embrace the older of the two._

_"S-Should I know who you are?" Will tried backing away but it seemed as if he was stuck where he was standing. An irrational fear started to boil in the pit of his stomach as the boy approached._

_"How meaningless life is, Will, how utterly insignificant life is, when you're dead, hm?"_

_Steel arms wrapped themselves around Will's body and the boy looked up with cheeky innocence. "There is a hell, Will. You sent me there, and now I'm taking you with me." Will gasped as flesh began melting off of bone and seared into his own skin. _

_"Sto-stop it!"_

_With horror, Will realized his own skin had already fallen off, revealing glistening white bone. There was an intense pain in his chest and he looked down to see an arrow had pierced both of them together, him in the heart and the boy in the throat._

_He was trapped, and sinking, sinking, sinking in suffocating heat. The boy laughed even as they fell into darkness._

_"Hell is where the murderers go after all, Will."_

Will woke up gasping, the nauseating feeling of free-falling still pulling his insides apart. He was twisted up in the revolting covers and his clothes were damp with cold sweat. He scrambled out of bed and stripped his hot undershirt, revealing a sweat-slicked torso still covered with old scars. Cold air screamed in his ear along with the pounding of his blood as he ran out of his room, through the hallway, and unable to hold it any longer, vomited in the nearest potted plant.

He shakily sat against the wall, laying his hot cheek on the cold Nihon ceramic jar where the gift from Emperor Shigeru grew. He grimaced in hindsight, but only spared a few seconds of remorse for the plant.

_These nightmares_... Will had been having these often, and they been plaguing his sleep ever since... ever since...

He couldn't even remember.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to.

As soon as his heart began to beat at a healthy rate, Will stood up cautiously and retired back to his own room. It was still hellishly hot, so he opened a window to let the cool night breeze in.

He stared at the moon, bright against the inky black sky, and tried to keep his eyes open for a little while longer.

He didn't want the nightmares to come back again.

* * *

"Hey, Lorri!" Loreto looked down and saw Rondo waving at her and gesturing for her to come down. She shook her head and crawled back up to the highest part of the roof. She was stringing her crossbow, and as old as it was, it took time, concentration, and most of all, no interference by any snot-nosed, impudent _idiota._

After a moment, she could hear a scrabble of feet and some displacement of roof tiles before Rondo dragged himself onto the roof.

"_Dannazione_, Lorri, why are you such a cold-hearted _puttana_?" he pouted, craning his neck to peer at her hunched over figure. She ignored him and continued stringing her bow, making sure that the tension was correct. His had been her grandpapa's crossbow, and it was very, very old. She would have inherited her papa's crossbow, if it had ever come back.

If he had ever come back.

"What do you want?" she asked, turning back to the older boy. His green eyes shone at some hidden joke, as was usual for the arrogant youth, just shy of turning twenty one next moon.

"_In__segnante_ wants to see us," he said. Lorri felt her insides clench at the sound of their sexist pig of a mentor.

"Why? Does he wish to give another lecture on how girls are only meant for childbirth?"

"That was only one time, and you weren't even there!"

"Shut up-"

"What I was _going_ to say," Rondo continued, "was that he wants to see us _because_ he let out a small hint that maybe one of us is going to get our feathers today..."

Loreto's eyebrows shot up and she muttered, "You better not be joking or I am ripping off your-"

"Just come, _idiota_, and you'll know!"

Loreto followed her senior down the roof, blood rushing to her face at the thought of finally being able to graduate. That would bring her only closer to her goal.

_Dannazione_ if she didn't get her feather, and _dannazione_ if she couldn't put a crossbow in those Rangers' throats by the end of her eighteenth year on this earth.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to Dash99, snaps10, FarmersDaughter, Ranger robbin and Savannah Silverstone for reviewing.

_Dannazione_- Damn it

_Puttana_- B*tch

_Insegnante_- Teacher

_Idiota_- self-explanatory

If you have any problems with translations, please tell me so.

EDIT: Chapters 1 and 2 have been edited.


End file.
